


Speaking Canadian

by chickwriter



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-19
Updated: 2008-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:12:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickwriter/pseuds/chickwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for the language challenge at DS Flash Fiction</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speaking Canadian

When Ray Kowalski first met the Mountie, he'd thought one thing--well, okay, it was one thing if you ignored the other thing, which was a small voice inside him chanting "I need to get me some of that." The *main* one thing was that Ray had thought if he was ever going to figure out how to understand his new partner, he'd need an instruction book on how to speak Canadian…or at least the Mountie dialect of Canadian.

The guy said so much without really saying anything at all. 

Eyebrow rubs, neck cracks, lip licks joined "Ahs," "Understoods" and "All Right, Rays," all of which Ray *knew* meant something, but he wasn't sure what. Then there were the looks. Quiet ones that could mean anything from "Are you unhinged?" to "Don't give the wolf donuts." Ray couldn't tell. All he could do was make a guess. Most of the time, he was wrong.

After the crypt and the dreamcatcher, Ray decided to get professional help. Except he couldn't find it. There weren't any books on learning Canadian. He'd gone to a couple of bookstores, even braved the Internet, but somehow other people all seemed to think Canadians spoke English. A strange, polite sort of English not often heard in Chicago, but English just the same. Ray knew they were wrong.

He was usually good at this. Real good. He'd been undercover before, learned to read people as part of his job. He was a detective, damn it. First Grade. He knew how to grill a suspect, get down to the words they weren't saying, know what they meant, know when inside they were shaking, baby, shaking. He should be able to figure this guy out.

The only other time Ray's natural talent had failed him was with Stella.

Once, and for many years, he'd known how to interpret the smiles, the looks, the unsaid words that meant "I love you, Ray." He still didn't know when it changed. He'd gone on thinking he knew what she wasn't saying, but like now, most of the time, he'd been wrong. He never knew when the looks stopped meaning "I love you" and started meaning, "I need out."

He *was* a good detective, damn it. He should be able to learn how to interpret the Stell--the Mountie.

If there weren't books, he'd just have to do it the hard way. Like that Berlin course, where they spoke the language at you until your tired brain finally started letting the meaning sink in. Ray figured he'd have to immerse himself in Mountie.

A few more cases, pounds more pizza later, and Ray felt like he'd started to crack the code.

It wasn't the words so much, as the tone of voice combined with the nonverbal. An "Ah" combined with a neck crack and/or eyebrow rub meant "I'm processing what you just told me, Ray." "Understood" by itself often meant, "I get what you said, but I probably don't agree." "All right, Ray" said with a small smile was "Ray, my friend, I will do whatever it is you just asked me to do." The "Ray, Ray, Rays" were just Fraser's way of making sure he was paying attention.

The lip lick thing was still a mystery, though.

Some days, Ray thought it was just a nervous tic, like the way Ray would rub his own thumb against the chain looped around his wrist. Other days, he wasn't so sure. There was something there. Something that Ray was both afraid of and craved. Something that Ray thought echoed his own disturbing internal chant--the small voice that hadn't stopped since Ray's first view of Fraser.  Or maybe it was just Ray's own wishful thinking that made it seem that way, made him want to make it more than it really was.

But then there was the whole Henry Anderson thing and Ray was totally lost in translation.

They'd come to blows, the partnership nearly dissolved in anger and Ray's frustration and lack of being able to figure out the man who nearly always before had racked that bad boy and covered him--figuratively, if not literally. Ray almost lost then, lost his way, lost his life, then the Mountie had done the thing that had changed everything, even though they both agreed that it hadn't.

Mr. Logic liplocked with Mr. Instinct and called it standard procedure. Like hell.

Ray didn't care what it meant in Canadian; in American, that particular "standard procedure" translated to a kiss. He had to ignore it, though, because the Mountie said it didn't change things…and the Mountie never lied. Ray was good at pretending. Vecchio/Kowalski, same diff, right? At least for now.

The taste of foul lake water mixed with Mountie joined the internal chant as part of Ray's daily life and the partnership was back on track.

In fact, so very much back on track that Ray stopped worrying about how to translate Mountiespeak and just started enjoying his time with Fraser. Days at work became dinners afterward and the occasional movie. Then Ray finally noticed that he was spending most of his time with the Mountie, and he wasn't having to work so hard at translating.

That's when he realized that the meanings had changed.

"Ah" and "Understood" merged to mean "I've got your back, Ray." "All right, Ray" became "I'd be honoured" and the neck cracks and eyebrow rubs nearly disappeared entirely, and Ray began to settle into this new understanding.

But Muldoon came to Chicago, and Vecchio (the real one) came back and Ray found himself becoming confused again, not knowing what was happening but finding himself translating for the Mountie anyway. "I mean I'm not particularly skilled at expressing…" meant "Frannie, he likes you." Only Ray didn't know what "If you'll have me" meant. That was a new one. And there wasn't anyone else around to help translate.

Then Fraser pushed Ray out of a plane, broke his face smiling and together they beat the bad guys. Like always. That was buddies. That was partners. That was not being lost and going together to find the reaching out hand.

In the cold light of dawn on a frozen morning in the Northwest Areas, it finally clicked. Ray, as in Stanley Kowalski, said "adventure" and both he and Fraser knew exactly what it meant. Finally, Ray had learned how to speak Canadian.


End file.
